


Polar Bear Plunge

by imafriendlydalek



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canadian traditions, Gen, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Swimming, really fucking cold water, set just before 2.10, so in Bitty's second year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek
Summary: Which is why, on December 30th, instead of cooking up a vat of black-eyed peas and collard greens with his mama, Eric Bittle is in Atlanta, boarding a plane to Montreal with three peach pies in his checked luggage. He’s already cold just thinking about what they’re going to be doing on New Year’s Day, but for now, he’s keyed up for the next few days. Because Eric is a masochist, apparently, and apparently the answer to “how far would you be willing to go to spend New Year’s Eve with Jack Zimmermann?” is “I would jump into a freezing cold river.”





	Polar Bear Plunge

“Yo, Jack, what’s this?” 

Shitty is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a brochure in one hand and waving it menacingly towards Jack, who looks up from the books he has spread across the kitchen table.

“Oh, it’s, uh, a charity thing. Me and Dad do it every year. Canadian tradition.” He turns his attention back to his studying, but Shitty is clearly not about to let up. Eric watches with an amused smile from across the kitchen, where he’s busy kneading bread dough, as Shitty saunters over to the table, pulls out a chair and turns it so it’s facing backwards before straddling the chair, and tosses the flyer onto the book Jack is staring into.

“Jack, brah. This is some epic bucket-list-level shit and you don’t even have the decency to tell us about it? What the fuck, Zimms, I thought we were friends.”

Jack chuckles as he pushes aside the brochure but doesn’t look up. “You’re welcome to come along. There’s a prize for the best costume.”

Shitty lets out a whine that Eric knows means he’s particularly excited about something.

“Alright,” he says, setting down the bowl of dough near the radiator to rise. “Now I’m curious.”

He wipes his hands on a dishtowel before holding one out for the brochure, which Shitty hands over.

“Oh, Bittle, I don’t think you’d-” Jack starts as Eric scans the page.

“Really?” Eric looks to Shitty, then to Jack, whom he levels a glare at. “Don’t think I’d what?”

“Don’t think you’d be up for a polar bear plunge.”

Jack’s right. That sounds like the worst idea ever. Why would anyone in their right minds willingly swim in freezing cold water in January?

Well, okay. Charity, and being Canadian. That’ll do it.

“What, you don’t think I can handle it?” 

“No, that’s not - it’s just - I don’t-”

“What can’t Bits handle?” Ransom and Holster appear in the doorway, shedding layers of snow-covered clothing. 

“Nothing,” Eric says at the same times as Shitty replies, “Fucking freezing cold Canadian river water.”

Ransom’s eyes light up. “No shit, you’re doing a Polar Bear dip, Bitty? We do one every year, me and my buddies back home.”

Eric notes the look on Holster’s face when Ransom mentions other friends, as if he can’t believe Ransom has a life without him in it.

“ _I’m_ not. Jack is. _Some people_ think I can’t handle it.” Eric doesn’t know why the insinuation bothers him so much. Maybe it’s from years of being told he’s not tough enough, maybe he just hates being told he can’t do something. Either way, he’s resolved now.

Which is ridiculous. He does _not_ want to jump into a freezing cold river in Canada. But he also does not want to let this stand. And then Jack goes and cocks his head, smiles, and pulls out his phone.

“Alright. I’ll call my dad, tell him to add a few names to the roster. Who’s in? Flights are on me.”

“What? Jack …” Eric starts to protest, but Jack waves him off. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound (of butt frozen off), Eric figures. He crosses his arms across his chest resolutely and levels his gaze at Jack. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Ransom and Holster say in unison.

“Yeah, totes, brah,” Shitty adds.

Eric can hear the phone ringing as Jack says “You each gotta find sponsors, though. This is for charity, after all, not for egos, eh?”

Shitty scoffs. “Brah, we will raise _so many funds._ Like, _all_ the funds.” 

Eric glances over to Ransom and Holster, who are already making a spreadsheet. Where did they even get the- never mind. Eric knows better than to ask.

“Yeah. Person who raises the most gets dinner at Mary’s,” Holster says. “Jack’s buying.”

“What if I win?”

“You’re out of the running, Zimms,” Shitty declares with a wave of his hand. “Unfair advantage. Home turf and the family name - no one can compete with that.”

Eric doesn’t miss the little frown on Jack’s face, though no one else seems to pick up on it. He waits until after the others have left and Jack is finished with his phone call to his father - he’s speaking French, but Eric can string together that he’s explaining why half of the starting line of SMH will be at the Zimmermann house for New Years (which is a prospect Eric is _absolutely not_ getting flustered about, no siree…) - before he saunters over to where Jack is sitting and gives his shoulder a light squeeze.

“If you win, I’ll make you some pie.”

Jack chuckles softly and turns to look first at Eric’s hand on his shoulder, then at Eric. “Bittle, you’re gonna do that anyway.”

“Yeah, okay, ya got me there.”

***

Which is why, on December 30th, instead of cooking up a vat of black-eyed peas and collard greens with his mama, Eric Bittle is in Atlanta, boarding a plane to Montreal with three peach pies in his checked luggage. He’s already cold just thinking about what they’re going to be doing on New Year’s Day, but for now, he’s keyed up for the next few days. Because Eric is a masochist, apparently, and apparently the answer to “how far would you be willing to go to spend New Year’s Eve with Jack Zimmermann?” is “I would jump into a freezing cold river.”

What even is this life?

“Pathetic, Eric R. Bittle, that’s what it is,” he mutters to himself as he stuffs his bag in the overhead bin, standing on his tiptoes to do so. 

“What’s that, hun?” the elderly lady in the window seat next to his asks, and Eric ends up telling Adrienne his life story (except he changes Jack name to “Jacques”, to keep things “in cognito”).

“Oh honey.” Adrienne lays a hand on his arm when he finally reaches the end. “You have two choices. Either you tell him, and take a chance that he might not feel the same way, or you say nothing, which means you won’t have that heartache if he doesn’t, but you’ll always wonder what if.”

Eric frowns. Well yeah, he knew that already. He does, however, learn about maple taffy, and he feels a little lighter from having told someone what is eating at him, so it’s worth it. And besides, it helps the flight go by faster.

Lardo and Shitty’s flight from Logan arrives at Trudeau International around the same time as Eric’s, so the three of them make plans through the group chat to meet up at Eric’s gate before heading out to baggage claim, where Jack will be waiting for them. Ransom and Holster are driving in the next day, so for now, it’s just the four of them.

“Hey, good flight?” Jack asks when they find each other, and Eric tries but fails to ignore the way Jack’s voice makes his heart beat just a little faster.

“Yeah. Had a nice chat with the lady in the seat next to me. She told me all about maple taffy.” Jack laughs, a hearty, rumbling sound that sends a happy warmth coursing through Eric’s veins, so he adds, “You Canadians are _weird_.”

“Okay, fill the rest of us in,” Lardo demands, handing her bag to Jack to carry.

“You pour some boiling maple syrup on snow and it turns to candy, apparently,” Eric supplies as Jack leads the group towards the doors.

“There’s a … euh … _cabane à sucre_ … sugar cabin? The place where they make maple syrup. There’s one not too far from my parents’ house. We could go? If you want?”

Eric stops in his tracks, just in front of the revolving doors. “If I want. Jack Laurent Zimmermann, it’s like you don’t know me at all. Of course I want.”

He looks to Lardo and Shitty, who are nodding enthusiastically. “We want,” Lardo says.

***

Sugar cabins are, it turns out, the stuff of dreams. The place Jack takes them to the next day is a cluster of wood cabins tucked deep in the woods. One is a restaurant cabin, where they have a hearty, traditional Quebecois meal that has even the hungriest hockey players groaning about being uncomfortably full. That’s followed by a tour of the maple production and all the maple taffy on snow they can eat. (Which is a lot, because Shitty, Ransom and Holster have the impulse control of a Jack Russell Terrier puppy, and Eric is determined to enjoy as much of this amazing treat as he can since he’s certainly never going to be able to make it for his mama back home in Georgia.) Luckily there’s also snow-tubing so the sugared-up gang can blow off some steam (Eric carefully ignores the way his heart rate speeds up at the sight of Jack smiling, snow swirling in his hair, as Shitty rams into him full-speed and sends him sailing out of his snow tube). They’re all pleasantly tired and slightly frozen by the time they get back to the Zimmermanns’, but it’s New Year’s Eve so they all decide to take a nap so they’ll be fresh for the evening’s festivities (“Brah,” Shitty points out, “you crazy Canadians with your reasonable drinking ages. We _gotta_ party tonight, it’s like the lawmakers insist on it.”).

And party they do. It isn’t quite Epikegster levels of swawesomeness, but it’s up there. Even Jack has more than one beer, and a smile that reaches his eyes as Eric, who is arguably significantly more intoxicated, nudges him in the side with his elbow at midnight and wishes him a happy new year.

Jack pulls him into an unexpected hug and ruffles his hair. “You too, Bittle.”

Eric is pretty sure his face is on fire.

***

Eric is pretty sure he is going to die.

He’s standing on the river bank, staring into the icy St. Laurence River. There are literally icebergs floating past.

“Hey, could be worse,” Ransom had said when Holster had pointed that out. “I did a polar bear swim in Lake Simcoe once. That shit was frozen solid. They had to use chainsaws to cut open the ice. _Literally_ freezing.”

That does not make Eric feel any better about this. It’s for charity, he reminds himself. A surprisingly large number of his family members and also old figure skating friends have made contributions, and he’s done a fair bit of fundraising. Ransom will be getting the free dinner, but Eric managed a comfortable third place in their little competition. (Jack, as expected, raised about a grand more than all of them combined, and his father even more. They’re each getting at least two pies.)

“Alright, I’m ripping off this bandaid!” Shitty declares, peeling off his sweatpants and shirt until he’s wearing just swim shorts. “Geronimo!”

Eric watches as he takes off running towards the water, Ransom and Holster close behind him in their matching Batman and Robin costumes.

“FUUUUUUUUUU-nnnn,” Shitty shouts as he hits the water, censoring himself when he remembers that this is being filmed for broadcast. “Get your butts in here, Zimmermanns!”

Jack and Bad Bob Zimmermann walk past Eric, one on each side, wearing just swim shorts. Eric allows himself a moment to drink in the sight, then Jack turns around just before he reaches the water to call back to them, “Not gonna duck out now, are ya, eh Bittle? Lards?”

They watch as Jack and his father wade out into the water, grimacing through their forced we’re-on-camera smiles. Bob waves for the camera, then Jack does too, just before Shitty splashes him.

“Well, better get in there, huh?” Lardo says.

“Yep, guess so,” Eric concedes, pulling his SMH sweatshirt over his head reluctantly. He keeps his t-shirt on, not because it will help him any once he gets into the water, but because he doesn’t really want to have his scrawny torso on TV next to his much more muscular teammates. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Lardo smiles and holds out a hand for Eric, which he takes, and together they take off at a run towards the water.

It’s like ten thousand tiny icicles stabbing him at the same time once they hit the water, and Eric feels the air whooshing out of his lungs. He gasps, desperate for air. It’s almost reassuring to see Lardo doing the same.

They have to go at least ten feet into the river - there’s a buoy with a bell that they have to ring. It takes every ounce of resolve to keep going. And yet, once they get there, it’s not so terrible.

“BITTYYYYY!” Shitty is shouting, and he wades over to give him an icy hug.

“Ooof, hi Shitty,” Eric ekes out. “Having fun?”

A few feet away, Ransom is carrying Holster piggy-back.

“THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME!” Shitty replies. He gestures to Lardo whether she wants to ride piggyback, and seconds later she’s climbing onto his back.

“How you holding up?” Jack’s voice just behind him calls Eric out of his thoughts, and he turns to see Jack looking far too comfortable for water this temperature.

“Fine. Great. Peachy. Never better,” Eric shoots back. His teeth are starting to chatter and he’s shivering uncontrollably.

“Look at you, Bits.” Jack reaches out to give Eric’s arm a light squeeze, then he pulls his hand away quickly. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, eh?”

Eric just nods and follows him out of the water.

***

Half an hour later, the six of them are huddled around the massive fireplace in the Zimmermann’s living room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate each. Shitty and Lardo are on the couch under a fleece blanket, Ransom is sprawled across a massive armchair, with Holster half on and half off the armrest. Eric is on the floor in front of them, as close to the fire as he can comfortably get, soaking up the warmth of Ransom’s legs hanging on either side of his shoulders. Jack is across the room, leaning with his back against the couch.

“I don’t know if it’s from the cold or there’s something in the water in Canada or what, but this is the best fucking hot chocolate I’ve ever had,” Shitty declares.

“That’s because it’s made with milk, not water,” Jack points out.

“And because I’ve never made Moomaw’s special hot cocoa for you,” Eric adds.

Shitty shifts to look over to Eric. “You holdin’ out on us, Bitty?”

Eric lets out a huff. “Yeah, Shitty, you know me, always keeping my delicious delicacies to myself, never sharing.” He smiles to himself as he blows on his hot chocolate before taking a sip, hoping the warm drink will soon help stop his shivering. When he looks up again, he notices Jack watching him. Jack looks away quickly, focusing instead on his own hot chocolate.

Shitty and Holster are chirping each other about something, and Eric zones out staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. He’s only pulled out of his thoughts when something brushes his shoulder. He looks up to see Jack standing over him, holding a giant Habs blanket.

“Here, you look cold.” 

Eric is about to reach up to take the blanket when Jack instead settles next to him, spreading the blanket across both of them. He’s close enough to Eric that Eric can feel Jack’s body warmth radiating off him, his arm pressed up against Eric’s.

“Thanks, Jack.”

“Yeah, of course. Happy new year, Bittle.”

Eric looks over to Jack and smiles. He can’t tell if the warm feeling is from being happy or from Jack pressed up against him, but that’s the same thing, isn’t it?

“Happy new year to you too, Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> who else is screaming about this last update 3.26 OMG?!?!  
> (come scream at/with me on tumblr: [imafriendlydalek](imafriendlydalek.tumblr.com) )


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